


Escort Quest

by primeideal



Category: Chess (Board Game)
Genre: Chess Problems, Crueltide, Embedded Images, Fairy Tale Elements, Gen, Yuletide 2018, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 14:35:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17003505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/primeideal/pseuds/primeideal
Summary: A loyal knight has one goal: to guide the kingdom's heir to promotion. But nothing will prepare them for the friends and threats they meet on the way to enemy territory...





	Escort Quest

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Reishiin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reishiin/gifts).



> I love all your prompts!

“When I accede,” Deirdre mused offhandedly, “I think I’m going to be a rook.”

I sighed. In relief because she was taking her birthright somewhat seriously without me having to poke and prod her about it, and in exhaustion because she clearly had given little thought to the duties of the monarchy. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” she said. “I don’t have to wear any fancy clothes and I can hide out in the hinterlands, away from people who want me to...” She waved her hands vaguely. “Ceremonialize.”

“Not even rooks have the prerogative to stay put in the far reaches,” I reminded her.

“Really?” she retorted. “You could stay right next to me and keep an eye on me. I’m sure you’d love that.”

I ignored the barb. It was my honor and duty to look after the young heir, as much as she resented the supervision. “Rooks are needed on the field of battle. In the center of the territory, staring down enemy troops from a distance.”

Deirdre sulked. “Can I be a king? Then you won’t have to worry about me wandering into danger.”

I was always going to worry about her, of course, as long as I galloped, but there was no sense arguing with her when she got into a mood. “You have assignments to finish.”

“I’m through the theology book—”

“Field tactics,” I interrupted, “three more exercises, then you can work on geometry.”

Deirdre set herself to the task, but I could tell from across the room by the way she was fidgeting with her quill that she was restless and uninspired. When she was at her most brilliant, she scarcely seemed to be aware of anything else but the pages before her, forgetting even herself in the back-and-forth of thought. This would be a brute-force approach, arriving at the correct strategy only after rejecting all others.

But I waited for her to reach the answers anyway. Not every war could feature impressive insight. Sometimes, battles were won by attrition.

“Pilib?” she asked.

“Yes?” I said.

“Why do they always ask us to seek victory in the fewest moves?”

Surely she was wise enough to infer this? “Transporting an army is expensive work. There are horses to shoe and bishops to frock. The quicker it can be done, the better.”

“Isn’t it more important to seek peace at the cost of as few lives as possible? Our own as well as the enemies’?”

“Do not try so hard to be kind-hearted that you risk an endless war,” I said. “Time itself is a priceless resource.”

I could not always tell which of her questions were outbursts of mere petulance, and which were genuine curiosity. Certainly, in another life, she would have been more content as a scholar than a warrior.

But this was the life we had been born to, where the enemy slaughtered our units without a backward glance. I had sworn to Deirdre’s parents to guard her, the last hope for our kingdom, and I did not take my oaths lightly.

She gave me a skeptical glance, as if to scoff at me for speaking of time as something to be parcelled and sold in the market, but then set upon her geometry text and was quiet for the rest of the night.

* * *

This was our life: study and practice, watching and waiting. Deirdre’s father had been imprisoned in the enemy tower years ago, and her mother was killed in battle shortly after.

I, of course, had many more memories of them than Deirdre’s dim ones, but she ignored me when I tried to tell her stories about them. “They were your _bosses_ ,” she protested.

I did not try to impress upon her that leadership was not an easy life, and that those who best took command were not always as accomplished in their private spheres. She was already frustrated enough with hiding away.

In the meantime I kept in shape, riding and sparring when I got the chance. I’d been forced to sell my battle steed, Dawncrest, when we went into hiding, so as not to draw attention to myself. At first I missed him, but years had passed, and wherever he was, he was in no shape for long treks.

I had expected us to be forced to move based on some external threat: campfires on the horizon, zealous missionaries, the enemy’s approach forcing us into action. But to my relief, their forces were stretched thin as well. Deirdre, however, had come of age and was increasingly impatient at being cooped up in our barracks. Better to strike first and catch our enemies off-guard. By the time they could catch up, I reckoned, we would be past their lines and Deirdre would have a clear path to the coronation.

She did not complain when we packed in haste, gathering supplies for a pack mount. Gone were the many records of ancient battles we’d pored over, the brightly-colored maps that showed the kingdom in its heyday. Deirdre snuck along one or two of her old books when she thought I wasn’t watching. Better for her to have something to do in the cold nights, and something to look forward to when we reached safety.

The first few days we made slower progress than I’d hoped. Deirdre managed the long walks, but she grew easily distracted by the outside world. The trees changing color, children skipping rocks on a riverbank, a vee of birds migrating from one disputed kingdom to another—they held her attention and she would nearly step in horse droppings if I hadn’t been there to chide her. For all the warcraft I had tutored her in, she was still immature in many ways.

But we had picked up our speed by the time we made it to the foothills of the Twoth Mountains. Though the most up-to-date maps I’d had on hand—which were not particularly recent—had told me we could hire a guide through the passes, many of the stations we searched had been boarded over and closed. I hoped the guides had merely fled for more seasonable weather or less militaristic surroundings, and that they, too, were not casualties of war.

At last we encountered a small depot with smoke coming from the chimney. I rapped on the door, only to be greeted by a large, bearded man aiming a crossbow at me. “Peace!” I said. “We’re looking for a mountain guide.”

He sized me up, warily, then turned his glance to Deirdre. “What’s a lovely lady like you doing with this fool?”

“My guardian thinks I ought to learn more of pack herding,” she said, not entirely falsely. “If I conduct myself well with horses, then I get to try my hand at the _kalibu_ in the winter.”

The guide laughed. “You’re lucky you didn’t arrive much later. Twoth in the deep winter is no place for the young, even with _kalibu_ at hand. Come in, come in.”

I blinked, and he lowered the crossbow.

“Sorry,” he said. “Force of habit.”

Once we were warmer, and a glass or two into his stock of good Twoth ale, the guide—who introduced himself as Izo—set his terms. “I’m no lover of these dark princes,” he said, when I guardedly poked at his political leanings. “But I don’t have much room to go making enemies, not out here.”

“I see,” I said.

“I’ll help you through for a silver coin, if I can trust that you’re no fools. Don’t need anyone giving me trouble, wondering why I’m taking jobs this late in the year.”

I was sorely tempted to point out that we were in much more danger of being informed on by him than the other way around, but resisted the urge. “I’m not a fool.”

“We’ll see about that, won’t we,” he said, sipping some more ale. “Tell me, my friend, have you heard of the battle of the east wind and the west wind?”

“I haven’t,” I admitted.

“Weren’t asking you, were I?” He glared over at Deirdre.

“Um...no,” she said.

“The east wind and the west wind were locked in combat. By their breath they moved the clouds about the sky, and blew them apart when the lands below were in need of rain.”

“Is this a battle or a weather forecast?” Deirdre asked.

“Hush,” I said. I did not understand Izo’s story any more than she did, but I was confident it was better to humor him.

“Now after they had struggled all night, the sun rose on their battle, and beheld what few clouds still dotted the sky, in all their shapes and grandeur.”

He drew a sketch, and I snapped to attention. This was no mere folktale, but seemed to be a portrayal of battle as we knew it, in all its abstraction and detail. Yet something was off…

 

“But one of the clouds,” Izo went on before I could interrupt, “had been buffeted about so that the sun could not tell which quadrant of the sky it belonged to. She pondered this the day drew on and she shed her light on the world. Could she know, by understanding the wills of the winds, where they had placed it? For the winds above are as humans below, and do not merely toss and turn, but follow rules and intentions.”

“I see,” said Deirdre, turning to look at his diagram.

“The sun gazed upon the cloud, but she knew not where it had been placed. So she set and took her rest as the night sky hid the war. But the winds blew and blew still, and by the morning, their fight had ended. The sky was clear by the time the sun rose again.

‘What has become of the sky?’ she inquired.

‘There is peace at last!’ said one of the winds. ‘For I have won the victory over my treacherous brother, and now your light may shine freely.’

‘Thank you!’ said the glowing sun. Then in her heart she discovered the truth of where the cloud had been. For as the sun casts shadows on the ground, so does each day shed light on what lies before and after.”

“That’s a nice story,” said Deirdre, unconvincingly.

“Isn’t it, now?” Izo said. “Now my question for you, young one, is what did the sun know? Where was the lost cloud?”

“What sort of a question is that?” I protested. “You didn’t say whether the sun spoke with the east or the west wind!” Never mind the absurdity of celestial objects conversing, I thought to myself.

“Didn’t I?” Izo shrugged. “Ho hum.”

“But—”

“Quiet,” Deirdre said, “I’m thinking.” I duly took her advice and tried not to strain our host any further, but I was at a loss as to how to answer him.

“We don’t know who won,” she summarized after a moment, “but we know that there _was_ a winner? That the winds did not call a truce?”

“Indeed,” said Izo, smiling as he refilled his glass.

“If the East wind—well, whoever’s at this end of the board, I don’t know, maybe it’s East—if it’s his chance to breath, he would have nowhere to advance, so he would need to seek a fair peace. The West wind, he could move this cloud into the blue sky...but then in a moment it would be East to breathe again, and still nowhere to go.”

I stared over her shoulder as she traced patterns with her finger.

“The only thing that East can do is somehow free this small cloud. Which means...he moves it...not forward, but beyond! The disputed cloud must have stood beside it, and the West wind pushed it far ahead. East knew that if a little unit is still exhausted from a long surge, it can be destroyed as if it only stepped a short way, and dissolved it into rain.”

“Well done!” Izo said. “Yes, you’ll make a fine mountaineer.”

“What?” I asked. “But who won the battle?”

“I don’t know, do I?” he snapped.

“That’s not the point,” said Deirdre. “The point is that you can—look through time. See what came before by knowing what came after.”

“I’m not drunk enough for this tomfoolery,” I said. “Izo, some ale, if you’d be so kind.”

* * *

Izo and I both slept in the next morning. If being a cavalryman had taught me anything, it was how to handle my drink, and by all accounts his life had given him similar lessons. Deirdre had tried a few sips but pronounced the taste not to her liking—more likely a result of the repetitive diet she’d grown up with than genteelness. This beat the alternatives, I decided. Having her grow keen on grog might have only made her more impatient to experience more of the world’s tastes.

After a late breakfast—some surprisingly fresh flapjacks—we began the journey through the pass. Izo made some snide remarks about our horse’s dawdling pace, and at one point I thought he was going to tease us more about exactly how upper-class us “soft lowlanders” were. But Deirdre merely pointed out that, as a “novice,” she was being eased into things with a familiar animal, and he dropped the subject.

Izo made us halt when there was still an hour of sunlight left in the day. “Don’t want to spend the night much higher,” he groused, and we readily deferred to him as we set up camp. The night was cold, but not uncomfortable, and we woke early the next day to continue the ascent.

The peak of the pass offered a splendid view, but even Deirdre was too cold to linger for sightseeing, and we quickly made our way down. By nightfall, some of the villages below had come into view.

Izo took his leave the next morning. “Even you clods can find your way from here,” he said, in the gruff way we’d come to recognize as affectionate. “Next time, you come by in the summer, and we’ll find you some goats to practice shooing around.” I could not help myself from joining Deirdre’s laughter.

We said our goodbyes and pushed on, heading for what appeared to be the largest village. I had not remembered this area as being particularly bustling, but the invasion seemed to have been a boon for their economy. As we drew nearer, we noticed an ambitious catapult-builder testing his creation in a sheep field, and stores dealing in novel-looking shields.

Deirdre, of course, was awed, and had to look in every window. I reminded myself it had been a long time since she had seen this many strangers, and as long as she didn’t spend too long chatting, we could maintain our cover.

The inn we found seemed overpriced, but it was very comfortable: pleasant music in the parlor without being overly loud, hot dinners, and clean bathwater. Deirdre went to sleep while I tried to look for transit across the Teiron River.

The innkeeper had recommended a prosperous ferry, but I did not like the looks of the operator. He seemed too obsequious, wanting to jump to secure the deal while dropping mention of “this must be very exciting for a lowlander like yourself, eh?” and “surely you don’t want any trouble from the princelings.” Perhaps it was just my paranoia after the years in hiding, but I mustered an excuse about needing to check on my horse and sped off.

The next day, we wandered upriver, where we found a smaller dock. The woman there, Nahal, seemed to take no notice of us until I approached her directly to ask after passage.

“Yes, yes,” she said briskly. “If you’re willing to pay.”

“We have good bronze,” I said, bracing myself for a round of haggling.

“I don’t need bronze,” she said. “I need advice.”

“Oh?” I asked.

“I need to settle a bet with my sister,” said Nahal. “You see, my mother told us growing up that we were descended from the conquerors of the Jerda Valley. But that was many centuries ago, and we supposed it was just a myth. Well, recently some bishop went and found some records of the war, and we want to know which tribe won. So we can know who our ancestors are.”

“What difference does it make?” Deirdre asked. “It was so long ago, they’re all dead now.”

I cleared my throat pointedly. Was she really so bitter that she had no respect for _her_ royal lineage? She was of the queen’s blood; it was her destiny to reach the enemy’s homelands and claim her crown.

Nahal seemed unfazed. “They had different customs and fashions. I would like to style myself after them, without honoring their foes.”

As it was, Nahal wore practical clothes for rowing and working along the river, with sturdy sandals. I did not think the Jerda Valley warriors had left enough influence on modern fashion to do her much good, but stepped in before Deirdre could say something else impolitic. “We will see what we can do.”

“Wonderful.” Nahal produced a paper from a watertight sheaf. “This is a record of the last days of the battle.”

I peered over. Another battle diagram! The armies, or what remained of them, were equally matched. One wielded obsidian while another boasted white flint axes, but both had been whittled down to a king and an heir each.

If the flint heir pushed forward, they would cut off the obsidian king, trapped in a corner. I opened my mouth to reply, but Deirdre reached for the diagram. “Hold on,” she said. “Are you sure this is the obsidian army’s homeland, back here? The flint warriors approached from the south?”

“Yes, of course,” said Nahal. “Why wouldn’t it be?”

Deirdre shrugged. “Well, you never know.” She glanced over the paper again. “The flint army can’t have attacked here, because that would mean the obsidian tribe attacked before that. But they can’t have done that, there’s no place they could have made camp previously. So the obsidian army was on the attack. The heir would have—killed her counterpart, and then accede eventually; the flint king can’t catch up to her.”

“Ha!” Nahal said. “I knew it! Yes, the obsidian warriors were much shrewder.”

“How did you know that?”

“Never mind that,” Nahal said, “were the heirs really women? How do you know?”

“We can’t know that far back,” I said. Maybe I’d misjudged her after all. “It’s just speculation. Since many of them became war-queens, there are ancient scholars who use the feminine translation...”

Mercifully, Nahal seemed to accept that as an answer. We made our way into her boat, balancing carefully as she began rowing across the chilly Teiron.

* * *

Nahal was in good spirits when she deposited us on the far bank, securing her boat to a tree in a shady rivulet. “You should come to my sister’s,” she suggested, “if you’re going to continue much farther. She’s a great cook, and you could use a hot meal amid a long journey.”

“We don’t mean to keep you,” I said.

“Oh, you’re not,” said Nahal. “I can’t wait to tell her about the Jerda Valley.”

“What about your rowing?” Deirdre pointed out. “Don’t people need rides?”

“The river’ll be half-frozen over soon enough,” Nahal replied. “If they’re that desperate, they can float.”

Deirdre looked over at me, questioning. “Well,” I said, “I wouldn’t say no to some home-baked food.”

Nahal led us across some rugged plateaus, then into the hills, where an inviting cottage beckoned. At the door, a taller and younger-looking version of Nahal greeted us.

“What’s the occasion?” she asked.

“These travellers have solved the riddle of our ancestors,” Nahal grinned. “Friends, this is Muirgen. Muirgen, this is Pilib and Jorun.”

I’d given my name freely. Since lots of warriors had served the kingdom over the years, I didn’t think I’d stand out leading a simple packhorse. Deirdre travelled under a pseudonym. Paranoia on my part it may have been, but one never knew where our enemies were. From what I knew, they’d encroached very far into our territory.

“Well met,” said Muirgen.

The cottage was cramped with pantry doors opening at odd angles and Muirgen’s kitchen supplies scattered haphazardly, but we welcomed the heat of the oven after the cold weather outside. By evening, Muirgen had served up fresh pies, which we wolfed down appreciatively.

When Nahal began rambling on about the glories of the obsidian tribe and how they, clearly, were far more worthy forebears than the flint warriors could have been, I pled road-weariness on my and “Jorun’s” part, and we headed to bed before we could be sidetracked. Muirgen had insisted that we stay indoors rather than making camp in the wind, but her sleeping quarters were as cluttered as the rest of the place. Deirdre curled up on a multicolored rug beneath the window; I slept near a closet, trying to clear a path to Muirgen’s bed for her or Nahal to climb through whenever they’d finished their historical reminiscences.

Nahal departed the next morning to untie her boat and resume her work. We planned to head out as well, but Muirgen urged us to stay. “You’ll be wanting food for the road, if you have much farther to travel. If you don’t mind giving me a hand, I can send you along with some loaves.”

“If you don’t mind,” said Deirdre. “We don’t mean to impose.”

“Not at all,” said Muirgen, reaching for a jar of flour that had been precariously balanced on an upper shelf. “Right this way...”

Having fended for ourselves for many years, we were experienced if unimaginative cooks, and set to following her directions. Some of the names Muirgen used for ingredients were different than what I was used to. We really had travelled some distance, even if there was much further to go.

“Now, then,” she said, putting the last of the loaves in the oven and flipping a sand timer, “to business.”

Deirdre blinked. “I thought that was business.”

“Oh, anyone can do that. No, Nahal tells me you studied the battle of Jerda Valley?”

“Not in detail,” Deirdre said.

“My sister...I love her dearly, but she can be a bit silly at times.” I privately agreed with this assessment, but let Muirgen continue. “I don’t really care if we were descended from the obsidian army or not. The flint tribe, from what I know of their style, were more elegant and refined, and I’ll pattern myself after them if I so choose, bloodline or not.”

“That’s very sensible of you,” said Deirdre.

“I suspect that if they’d only been wiser in battle, they might have won the day, and then where would we be?” said Muirgen. She, too, reached for a piece of paper with the battle scheme, this one wedged behind a row of spices. “One of the ancient scribes says that could the flint tribe have just turned back time, they would have undone their folly, and then proceeded to triumph. I am not sure if the records speak true. Perhaps you can show me how?”

“Turning back time?” I asked. “I know some of these scribes were superstitious, but really.”

But Deirdre was already scrutinizing the page. “If the flint heir was free to move forward, she—or he, whichever—could cut off the obsidian king. So whatever came before would have to be the flint king’s work. But if the king had moved from the east and retraced his steps, the obsidian king would be free to flee to the east as well. So the flint king had just come from the south.”

“Oh?” said Muirgen. “Marvelous!”

“No, there’s something else. The king...had to have just slain another obsidian warrior. Because if he had not, again, there would be nothing that obsidian could have done before. So who could have been there? Certainly not an heir, that far back from the fray. A queen or a castle...they would have been threatening the flint king, so the heir would not be able to move; the king would need to respond to the threat first. A bishop...a bishop would have set upon the heir as soon as she came forward. So the king killed a knight.”

I willed her not to look at me, not to give any sign. “Of course it’s just myth,” I said firmly. “You can’t alter time any more than you can awaken the dead.”

“Perhaps not,” said Muirgen. “But it’s nice to have something to admire anyway.”

* * *

With our loaves in tow, we made our way through the hills to the town of Kattur. Beyond that, the terrain was smoother, but the enemy had held it longer. I planned to take a few days to rest and then resume our infiltration.

What I did not plan on was the approach of a nimble, eager man while we were dining at an inn. He looked me up and down, then queried, “Pilib?”

I assumed he was merely another guest, perhaps a laborer at the inn, who had heard me arrive. “What do you want?” I asked.

“You—you are Pilib?” he stammered. “From the army?”

“Yes, I am Pilib. Who are you?”

“It’s me!” he smiled broadly. “Cadell!”

“Cadell?” I echoed. I could scarcely recognize the young upstart I’d known so many years ago in the strong knight who stood before me. “What brings you here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“These are unpleasant times,” I said. “’Tis not good to speak too freely in public.”

“Yes,” he said, “they are. But I expect you are still loyal to our rightful rulers?”

“Of course,” I said, my voice cold.

“Ah, Pilib, you haven’t aged a day,” said Cadell. “Come to my room when you’ve eaten. I have much news.”

He took his leave, and Deirdre regarded me with an emotion I could not identify. Admiration, or fear? She had not known me as a young and leaping knight, only her sober guardian. “Cadell flatters me,” I said, trying to set her at ease. “I am sure I have grown plenty old.”

When we came to his room, he nodded politely at Deirdre. “My lady,” he said. “Feel free to retire for the evening. I’m afraid Pilib and I are not very interesting company.”

“Do you know who this is?” I asked.

“A friend of yours is a friend of mine,” said Cadell, “but if the lady has not a taste for warfare, I would not keep her.”

Before I could deliberate what to say, Deirdre spoke. “My name is Lady Deirdre.”

“A pleasure to meet you.” Cadell bowed.

I studied his face; he seemed as earnest and straightforward as ever. Did he not know the heir’s identity? It had been so long...

“Lady Deirdre is very learned, and has proven her prowess in strategy many times over,” I said after a moment. “I would welcome her company.”

“Very well.” Cadell nodded. “Last we met, which was of course some time ago, the fear was that the enemy forces would overrun us.”

“Of course,” I said.

“The intervening years have been hard on their provisions, just as much as ours, if not more so. It seems that they will seek another end to the war, if possible.”

“Surrender?” Deirdre asked, with youthful hope.

“Alas, no,” Cadell said. “They mean to shame us into a truce. Many of their troops have starved or been abandoned. If they are left with no outlet to run, they will claim we have fought dishonorably, and claim a draw.” He pulled a rough diagram from under the rented bed.

“That is nonsense!” said Deirdre. “We have an advantage they cannot boast—brave knights such as yourselves. Surely this must be decisive!”

“It would seem so,” said Cadell. “But the enemy’s princes are experienced as well. Were either of them to penetrate deep into our territory, they would surely accede to be battle-monarchs of their own, and that could be catastrophic.”

“Do we not have an heir as well?” Deirdre asked.

“They say so. I can only assume she is still living.”

“We would have surrendered if not,” I noted. “For what can mere knights do against the enemy? Only in the hope of her promotion do we struggle on.”

Deirdre glared at me, but her frustration passed in a moment. “Is there any other news?”

“Only rumor,” Cadell said. “They say that the common folk here are—dissatisfied—with the princelings’ poor treatment of their subjects.”

“As well they should be! To invade was one cruelty, to sacrifice their own people without even hope of victory is petty.”

“I hear talk of old magic in the hills. That if we were to undo our most recent tactic, we could be given another chance to act.”

“Magic?” Deirdre lit up. “How so?”

“I don’t know the workings of it,” he said. “I’m just a horseman.”

“It probably is rumor at best,” I said. “Let us attend to the matter at hand.”

“Oh?” said Deirdre. “And I suppose you have some brilliant plan for victory on the spur of the moment?”

“Not immediately,” I admitted.

“Then I have some pressing questions myself.”

“Do you?”

“For Cadell,” she specified. “Did you know Sir Pilib when he was in the army? Did he have a battle stallion?”

“Deirdre...”

“Did he ever!” Cadell laughed. “Oh, our Pilib was quite the gallivanter, in his day!”

“Cadell,” I said, wishing I had more convincing rebuttals than interrupting with my companions’ names in a peeved tone.

“Oh, come on,” he said. “Times have been dark. Let’s take the chance to laugh while we can! Even if we cannot magic our way into changing the past, perhaps we can still find joy in it.”

I grudgingly conceded his point, but after the third nostalgia-fueled recollection of Cadell’s escapades in a bishop’s private chambers, excused myself to sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Cadell met me downstairs in sheepishness. “My friend,” he said, “I apologize if if I am intruding, but I would ask you a favor.”

“It depends,” I said. “We must be on our way in a few days.”

“It should only be a day’s work, perhaps a morning’s.”

“I would be glad to help, if I can.”

“The conversation last night roused my heart, and I am preparing for battle again. But as you well know, it has been years since I last rode to war. And...I am in want of a worthy horse.”

“That is nothing to be ashamed of,” I said. “I, too, have traded my steed for humbler mounts.”

“I was always rash and did not pay much attention to our commanders,” he said. “But I suspect you remember much of what we were taught. If I went to the marketplace today, would you help me evaluate the horses there?”

“I doubt this village has much to offer,” I said, “but I’ll do what I can.”

Deirdre was still asleep, Cadell’s stories no doubt having kept her up till an unwonted hour. I left a note explaining the situation and told the innkeeper to expect her for a late brunch, and then we set out for the Kattur square.

It was not much like old times, but Cadell and I fell into a familiar camaraderie. He complained about the small size of some ponies on display, I told him that they were probably not used to carrying soldiers of his bulk, he mock-accused me of insulting his weight, I jested about his parents’ marital status and species. Morning turned into afternoon, and from appraising horses we turned to estimating the production of milk cows and chickens, then cursing the memory of some of our dreadful army rations. By the time night fell, he was no closer to finding a mount that pleased him, but we had laughed and enjoyed ourselves to such an extent that it seemed no matter.

We returned to the inn, and ate our fill of dinner. Only then did I go back to my room, and take a moment to realize Deirdre’s bed was empty.

I stepped forward, trembling, and picked up Cadell’s map, which she had folded on her pillow. Inside it was the note I had left her, with her own narrow handwriting on the reverse side.

_Pilib,_

_Thank you for everything. Don’t try to do something noble and self-sacrificing. You’ve taught me too well, and it wouldn’t work anyway._

_-D_

I read the words several times before my mind relaxed enough to let me put them together into meaningful pieces. I had never been afraid of dying for the heir—it would have been an honor—but I could not comprehend what she had in mind.

Cadell walked in on me some time later, I could not say how long. I was still frozen by fear. Had I failed in my life’s work, letting the heir disappear from out under my nose?

“Pilib?” he asked, gently taking the map from my hands.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, slumped over. “We need to talk.”

* * *

Cadell was remarkably composed for the circumstances. He dissuaded me from attempting a search immediately; it was dark and cold, and we would be more likely to stumble upon an enemy campfire than anything of significance.

The next morning, I settled my accounts and we headed forward. The terrain beyond us was flat and vacant. We saw no tracks and few signs, amid the bramble and dead bushes, that anyone had pushed through recently.

“I do not mean to pry,” said Cadell in the tone of one who meant to pry. “But it was your intention to continue guiding Deirdre forward?”

“Yes!” I yelled.

“And she was aware of this?”

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“Never a fool, Pilib. Only—if she wanted to move forward, why would she run instead of waiting for you?”

“You don’t think she could have been captured, do you? We would have heard, seen something...”

“I agree,” said Cadell.

“Then where could she have gone?”

“I suspect she is behind us, back the way you came.”

“Impossible!” I blurted. “She is an _heir._ She could never retreat!”

“Under her own power, perhaps not. But if there is truly magic in our midst, she may have availed herself of it.”

“To what end? Her destiny is to accede in the enemy’s homeland.”

“Her _goal_ is to triumph,” Cadell chided me, “as is all of ours.”

“And you think that by fleeing backwards, she might have achieved this goal?”

“You said it yourself; she has untangled puzzles that you could not fathom. I might not know why she’s moved the way she has, but I think it would be folly to rule anything out.”

“Very well.” I sighed, fear sinking in along with the cold weather. “We retrace our steps.”

The snow was dazzlingly bright as we made our way back through the hills, towards the Teiron. But new layers fell quickly, and our footprints were erased behind us. There was no chance of tracking Deirdre that easily.

Nahal’s boat was nowhere to be found at the river. Presumably, she had sense enough to bolt it up somewhere safe and warm. “You don’t think Deirdre crossed on foot?” I asked.

Cadell shrugged. “She is some deal lighter than either of us.”

It took us a day’s walk to find a bridge far upriver where we could cross safely, and another day just to make it back as far downriver as where we’d come. The nights grew no warmer, and I shooed away more and more fears of what, if anything, we would find. I had waited years to see the kingdom at peace, I told myself. I could endure a few more days of uncertainty.

Even Cadell balked at searching in the Twoth Mountains. “You said you found a guide last time?” he asked. “What would she do alone?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “This was your idea!” I was being harsh on him, of course, but I was in no mood to be charitable.

“Let’s not rush into anything,” he said. “Tomorrow we can spread out, look in the low hills.”

I nodded, preparing to make camp.

Cadell took his time to come in, however, kicking up snow and parcelling it into squares. “Are you playing at scotch-hoppers?” I called. “Come and get something to eat.”

“Hold on a moment,” he said. “Come look at this.”

Rolling my eyes, I walked out to look. Through the low light, I could see his crude copy of the battlefield map.

“The enemy had just achieved their aim,” he said. “Of having nowhere to go, in order to claim a draw.”

He seemed to be correct. The princes had advanced as far as they could without meeting opposition, while their king was barred from approaching either our aged monarch or Cadell’s sphere of influence.

“So what would Deirdre be seeking to do?”

“Demonstrate that somehow they _did_ have an option open,” I reasoned.

“Quite so. Now, what was the last thing that occurred?”

“The last thing that occurred? You dragged me out here to look at your soggy doodles.”

“In terms of the war, Pilib.”

“The war? Well, Deirdre surged forward, of course. Beginning her journey.”

“A matter of course to you, Pilib. Not to the world. She had to _prove_ that that was what she had just done—and the only way to show that was to undo it.”

“So she tried to go all the way back through the mountains?” I asked. “But whatever for?”

“Because what can the prince do, if he knows her plan?”

“She would just push forward again...” I trailed off. “And if he _saw_ her do it, he would be free to strike her down in passing. Destroy her without landing a blow.”

Cadell wiped the grid with his foot, kicking up a couple more mounds. “And then you can move to slay him. That will threaten their king, and end the war for good.”

“How dare she,” I yelled. “How _dare_ she...”

But were we any different? I had taught her warfare, and she had learned something less and more, unbounded by time.

* * *

We found her the next morning. She had climbed to where the air was thin, taken in the views and the distant white horizon, and then, exhausted from the lonely trek, fallen asleep in the snow.

“We can’t stay,” Cadell said. “You have a duty to the kingdom. You know that.”

“Shut up.” I kicked snow at his feet. Again I was the brash cadet he’d known me as, yet with none of that Pilib’s taste for bloodshed.

“What’s past is past,” he said, not entirely convincingly under the circumstances. “The future is ours to make.”

I had never given thought to what I would do with myself in peacetime; a large part of me had not expected to see it. “It isn’t fair.”

“Do you want consolation?” Cadell challenged. “Or do you want an argument?”

“I’m a knight, aren’t I?” I said. That much was still true. “I was born to fight.”

At first I thought he’d echo one of Deirdre’s idealistic asides—nobody is born to anything, we’re all born humans and all return to the same earth—but he merely raised his eyebrows. “War is not kind, but it is always fair.”

That I could not dispute. There were laws—rigid and exacting ones, even when they defied time itself. I had told Deirdre to keep both eyes on the future, but somehow she’d outsmarted me at the last.

I nodded to Cadell, and we began the long, frigid walk down the mountain.

**Author's Note:**

> East Wind puzzle--Raymond Smullyan  
> Jerda Valley puzzles--[RJ Darvall and Bror Larsson](http://www.uschess.org/content/view/11264/632)  
> the last "puzzle"--Hauke Reddmann


End file.
